Pain
by FortunesArkHero
Summary: Captain James Nicholls died on the battlefield, and therefore should not feel pain. But he does. He feels so much of it. And he's alone. He'd rather die than be alone, scared and gravely injured. But he shouldn't feel pain and yet he does. James Nicholls survived, and he will never be the same again.
1. Chapter 1

**I was having Captain Nicholls feels while watching War Horse and this is the result. Please read, review, favorite, follow and most importantly, please enjoy. Give James Nicholls your love. He needs it.**

Machine guns.

They were loud and sounded of vicious thunder on a dreary London afternoon. Captain James Nicholls, his sword still pointed in the German's direction, looked as he saw his comrades, his friends, die around him. The soldiers, some younger than he, boys really, were falling from their horses as bullets whizzed past him. The horses that were free of their riders galloped as fast as they could to the forest. James' blue-green eyes glossed over with tears, his life flashed before him.

And that's when the pain happened.

James felt searing pain erupt all over his body all at once. He knew he had been hit. He doubled over, his sword dropped from his hand. He grasped Joey's mane. His breathing was heavy and labored. He patted Joey lightly, another wave of pain consumed him. Something hit him in the shoulder, something excruciatingly painful. And then another, and another…and another. James fell from Joey.

James landed ungracefully onto the cold, blood-covered grass. He looked up and saw Joey fleeing for his life. "Go, Joey…" he wheezed, painfully. "Run…" He felt the ground move beneath him, the gallivanting of the other frightened horses. As he looked and saw the horses, he felt a sudden jolt of pain near his left eye. A horse clipped him in the face with his hoof. The kick caused James to flip over on his back, an anguished cry of agony went flying past his lips. The tears that had previously welled up in his eyes were now spilling all over his face. He breathed, painfully, each gasp of air that left him was gone too quick. He felt the warmth of his blood seeping between his fingers. Bloody flowers bloomed all over his body. Pain erupted and consumed every fiber of his being.

27…James Alexander Nicholls was only 27 years old.

The sky was what gave him comfort, even though it wasn't bright and vibrant like normal. It was dull and gray and looked as if it were about to rain. But it didn't matter to him. The sky was beautiful; so peaceful, calm and inviting. As long as he looked at the sky, James knew it would be easier for him to let go. The drops of rain dripped gently onto his skin. It gave a serene feel to the utterly terrifying predicament he was in. His tears mixed with the rain, he didn't know if he was crying anymore.

He never wanted this: to die on the battlefield. Sure, he expected it might happen, always had that feeling in the pit of his stomach that he would die for king and country. But the thought of dying in the middle of a war-torn country, riddled with bullets, in pain and being alone, that's what scared James the most. Being in pain and alone, no one to comfort him and tell him that it would be over soon, that was the most horrible, terrifying and heart-breaking thing to him. With his free hand, James clutched the grass beneath him, just wanting to hold on to something until the end. He could feel his heart slow down in his chest, which resulted in his breathing becoming sporadic.

But at least Joey would be ok, even if he couldn't fulfill his promise to Albert to return him.

James' breathing calmed after a minute as the rain continued to cascade over him. His eyes grew heavy, his vision became darker. The tears still fell, but he didn't try to stop them. There was no need. If his body was found (which probably would be by the Germans), no one would know that he had cried. No one would know that he silently prayed to God that he lived, that he was begging for his life. No one would know. He was going to die alone and frightened. He found himself muttering a prayer, something he learned as a child when his mother taught it to him as a small boy. But even now it did little to comfort him.

James' eyes slowly fluttered closed, the piercing and beautiful blue-green were never to be seen again. His breathing stopped, his chest ceased its movement and his grip on the sticky and cold blood-stained grass loosened. And as if fate wasn't already cruel enough to him, the calming rain stopped the moment his life ended.

Captain James Alexander Nicholls died on the battlefield.

And he died alone.

**Or so you think.**

**Until next time**

**~Fortune**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all for amazing response to this. I am so glad you all like it! I was a bit scared that maybe you wouldn't, but your reviews, favorites and follows reassured me differently. This was a tough to chapter to write, and it is a bit lengthy, a reward for being patient with me. I saw the War Horse play recently and I had to get this chapter to you. You might feel really bad for James in this because of all the pain he is going through.**

Joey had been captured. Jamie, too.

Jamie had become a prisoner of war, Joey would be at the mercy of the Germans. All of the soldiers that lived would become prisoners as well, probably shipped off to the nearest hard-labor camp. All of the soldiers that died would probably be stripped of all of their belongings and then either burned or buried. That would be for the Germans to decide. Jamie didn't know the fate of James, but given that he hadn't seen him being brought into a part of the camp meant for the captured, he assumed that his friend was dead. He didn't know about Topthorn, either. That was the only and last time that Major Jamie Stewart would cry. And he knew that it was his fault.

Jamie would go to his grave knowing that he caused James' death.

* * *

Cold. Warmth. Light. Dark. And pain.

So. Much. Pain.

There's gunfire, angry screaming. Is that rain? It smells crisp and it smells of death. The scent of blood, dirt and rain water filled the air. There's a crackling sound, too. A fire, perhaps? That would explain the warmth and the light. Red, orange and yellow trying to peek through the dark. The cold…that must be rain. Then, there's the pain that was too much to endure. There shouldn't be pain. One claimed by death shouldn't feel pain. Why was there pain!?

If pain was felt, it means he's alive.

James Alexander Nicholls survived.

Quickly and very painfully, his right eye snapped open. He couldn't open his left eye at all. He couldn't move the left side of his body at all. It felt like bullets were hitting him all over again. He couldn't move his right arm and his chest and abdomen hurt. _Everything _hurt. It hurt a lot. Every move he made sent jolts of stabbing knives all throughout his body. He felt like he was being restrained. He was on the verge of hyperventilating, his chest rose and fell heavily, more pain consumed him. His eye was wide like a caged animal. James' sight intensely looked around where he was. He made one small movement and he cried out in a howl of sheer agony mixed with fear.

More whimpers escaped his lips. He just wanted it to end. He was alone. No one should be in this much pain and be alone. He felt wetness fall down his face. He had started crying. And then it spread over his stomach. Oh, no. He must've aggravated his wounds. James' breathing quickened as more tears fell from his eye. He was going to bleed out and die. His hearing, however, focused on to one sound: footsteps. Not the sound of the rain outside or the fire two feet away from him, but that of the footsteps approaching him. He whimpered again, but felt a hand on his cheek. The person's skin was warm against his flesh. James knew right away that he was in the company of a woman.

The woman held a finger to her lips as she shushed him, lightly. She pointed to a window above him and proceeded to make a gun out of her finger. Soldiers were somewhere outside. James nodded gently, and found that even _that_ was painful to do. The woman's dark hazel eyes roamed all over his body. She was nervous about how damaged he was. His uniform was soaked in blood. He must've just been found by her if he was still in his uniform. As gently as humanly possible, she unbuttoned James' army jacket and opened it up. She gasped as she saw the soft forest green color of his army shirt stained deep crimson. He was a bloody mess, and so very lucky to be alive. He should be dead.

She began to undo the buttons to his shirt to see what the bullets had done. Her eyes glossed over with fear and panic. She looked just as frightened as James probably felt. Her lips mumbled things, he caught her saying something akin to 'oh, my god'. She left James just for a moment to grab a bowl of water and rag. Her eyes flitted between the bowl and James and his injuries. His foggy and muddled brain knew that she was going to do her best at trying to clean him of the blood. But the more blood she tried to clean, the more replaced it and left his body. It was particularly painful for him when she moved the rag ever so slightly over his ribs and lower abdomen. He let out a horrid cry as she touched his cheek lightly to calm him, and then his eye closed from the exhausting pain and lack of blood.

It would be hours or days, maybe, before James woke up again. The woman breathed a sigh of relief when she felt that his pulse, although weak and almost undetected, was indeed still there. It actually was a good thing that James was unconscious. The scenario of him being awake while she tried to take the bullets out would not be a good thing. The less he writhed in pain, the less damage he would sustain. She carefully peeled off the jacket and threw the bloodied thing to the side. His right arm just below the shoulder had been hit from the aggressive bullet hole peeking through the exposed skin that she could see. She pulled the shirt off in tattered pieces, each still covered in the young soldier's blood. It unceremoniously joined his jacket on the floor. James' wounds became more apparent to her, now.

He suffered a hit to his right arm beneath the shoulder , and in his right forearm, one to the collar bone on the left side (it was an exit wound and it seemed to be the only exit wound), one on the right side of his rib cage and two in his lower abdomen. She also knew that he had been shot in his upper left leg. How was he still living? This was going to be exhausting. Removing the bullets while also suturing the wounds to make sure James didn't die was going to take a lot out of her. She could only hope that he stayed unconscious the entire time. Her heart would break if she had to watch him be in so much pain. She grabbed some more rags, bandages and something to help remove the bullets. She also removed James' boots and trousers while keeping pressure on his leg wound.

And now it was time to work.

* * *

Nearly 4 hours later, the bullets were removed and he had stopped bleeding…for now. He was still asleep, thank goodness. Removing the bullets and patching up 7 wounds, plus an injured eye was tedious work. She hoped that no serious damage was done to his eye. Being a soldier meant that he had to use his eyes to observe his surroundings, and his body was very broken. It would take many months for him to recover fully. Maybe even a year, depending on how fast he would heal. She washed her hands free of his blood and grabbed a chair, pulling it next to the bed where James would be residing in for the foreseeable future. She folded her arms on the bed and leaned on it. His entire torso was wrapped up to cover his ribs and abdominal wounds. His left shoulder was heavily bandaged and so was his right arm from shoulder to wrist. It would probably need a sling.

His breathing was steady and soft. His chest rose and fell with each gentle breath that was hard for him to obtain in his fragile state. She also stitched up his left brow because of the horse's hoof. And his leg was wrapped up, too. She watched him intently, memorizing his face, the structure of his cheekbones, the shape of his lips, the outline of his nose. She hoped he wouldn't die in his sleep. She didn't want to run the risk of the Germans finding her with him and receiving the ultimate punishment. She smiled at him, gently removing some hair from his forehead and stroking his hair like she was comforting a child. He may as well have been with how much he would have to depend on her.

For the meantime, she just watched him sleep.

She was glad he was alive.

* * *

_-7 days later-_

It was raining, again. So much rain. There was hardly any sunlight since the Calvary charge. It either rained, was gloomy or nighttime. James was still asleep. He hadn't been awake since his 'surgery'. His body needed the rest. None of his wounds showed any signs of getting better, and that was worrisome. It was time for his bandages to be changed. The young woman, James' rescuer, had more bandages and some medicine. She didn't know his name, had a suspicion that he was fighting against Germany. She knew nothing about him other than he was injured. And that he was rather handsome, even with the cuts and bruises and wounds.

She finished redressing his wounds when James stirred lightly. His left eye was still swollen shut. He pried his good eye open, immediate panic consumed him. He began to fidget, causing immediate pain to overtake his frail state. The young woman cupped his face gently, shushing him like a mother would soothe a babe plagued with nightmares. His dry lips parted, slightly, coughing and wheezing painfully. He tried to speak, but a soft croak escaped his lips instead. The young woman held up a finger and left his side. He heard the trickling of water. She returned with a cup.

She gently put her left hand under his head, lifted his head up and brought the cup to his lips. The cool water was crisp and refreshing, very much needed. It slid down his throat with such ease. When the cup was taken away, his attention was brought back to her. She appeared to be a bit younger than he. Twenty-two, maybe? Her skin was fair, she had brown shoulder length hair and dark hazel eyes. But they were beautiful. Her smile was gentle, warm and comforting. "Sprechen sie Deutsch?" She spoke lightly. James' brows knitted together with pure confusion. Her own brows creased as she sighed. "Sie können kein Deutsch, oder?" James shook his head. He couldn't understand her, but from his time in war and picking up on small things, he knew that she was speaking German. This was not good. "What?" he croaked, weakly.

"Oh, good, you're English. This'll make this easier, then."

James' brow rose with surprise. "You speak English? You're from England?" The woman smiled at him, again, and nodded at him. James tensed when she meant to touch his hand for comfort. She looked a bit perturbed by his action, as he probably felt the same. "You don't have to be afraid of me. My name is Sophia von Faulkner." James chuckled, minor pain flared in his chest. Sophia (that was such a pretty name for her), narrowed her eyes on to James. "That's a very German name for a very English girl." Sophia recoiled slightly, sighing as she bit her bottom lip.

"German born, England raised. I consider England my home as Germany my roots." James groaned as he felt a tight pressure constrict his chest, coughing violently. Sophia grabbed his hand, the only appendage of his body not injured, and rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. Although he was being comforted by a young woman that seemed very nice (she did save him, after all), he didn't feel as safe as he wanted to. He was in German-occupied France and in the company of a German-English woman. His vision was fading. He felt himself growing tired. He stammered on some words. Sophia leaned close to him so she could hear him. "James," he whispered as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Sophia smiled as she stroked James' hair with her free hand. So his name was James. "James…" she said, trying the name for herself. "Nice to properly meet you, James. I'm happy you're alive."

James fell asleep clutching Sophia's hand, but he was going to make it.

**So, James is very weak, but alive...for now, but he isn't out of the woods yet. He is in a country occupied by his enemy and he is very close to death. I would really like your opinion on Sophia. With every story, I do reviewer shout outs. So here they are:**

**Carson- I'm glad you like this, and I am sorry it made you cry. I can't imagine that this chapter (or future ones) will do you any better.**

**armand1883- HI HIDDLESADMIRER! I love that it gave you chills. Here is another to make you feel a bit worried for James. Thank you!  
**

**seri raven-Here's another chapter, dear. You might feel more anxious with this one.**

**stagepageandscreen-Aw, thank you so much, dear. I hope more tears are produced with this chapter. Here is more for you!**

**Those are so amazing to do, because it means that you all have faith in it. Please come back, and as always read, review, favorite and follow.**

**What would you like to see next chapter?**

**Until next time,**

**~Fortune**


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